


Fifty Quid

by Nineveh_uk



Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nineveh_uk/pseuds/Nineveh_uk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jerry has a favour to ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifty Quid

‘So I thought,’ said Lord Saint-George with his most winning smile, ‘you might give me a cheque.’

‘Ah,’ said Bunter, looking up from his accounts, and continued softly. ‘Now why should I do that, my lord?’

‘Well, it’s a bit – I’m a bit short. Not much. Only my allowance isn’t due for a month and I really can’t ask Uncle Peter.’

‘I see.’

‘I know you’ve got savings, and it's not as if you're doing anything with them; I thought you wouldn’t mind helping me out. I’d pay you back.’

Bunter retreated a few paces, looked briefly to the ceiling, and again at the Viscount.

‘Would you?’

‘Of course I would! Just as soon as I get my allowance.’

‘Lined up with the other creditors, I presume?’

‘There aren’t any other creditors! I’ve just run a bit short with, well, unexpected expenses.’

‘And your father accepts that when his tenants are late with the rent, does he?’

‘What are you bringing him into it for? It’s only fifty quid! I thought you might see reason.’

‘I assure you, my lord, I am entirely rational. If I were feeling generous,’

‘I knew you’d be decent about it.’

‘I might suggest that an enthusiasm for the works of Mr Wodehouse has given your lordship an inflated idea of what even a valet with a generous employer might earn _per annum_.’

‘So you’re not going to lend me the money?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘And I thought you liked me.’

‘Blackmail is an ugly word, my lord.’

‘I wasn’t! What the hell do you think of me?’

There was an unpleasant silence. Bunter extracted a packet of Players from his pocket, took one, and offered the pack to Saint-George.

‘Thanks.’

Bunter smoked thoughtfully for a moment before continuing, not unsympathetically, ‘Are you in trouble?’

‘Not exactly. But the girl is.’

‘Jesus wept! You bloody idiot.’

‘She said it was all right – no, not like that, I’m not stupid. She’s, I mean, I know her people and all that, and she thought she was taking care of things only it didn’t work, and I really have sorted it out, only I can’t manage the last £50. Let me have a light, would you? Thanks.’

‘Who is it?’

‘I can’t tell you that! Well, all right, but don’t tell anyone.’ Through supreme self-control, Bunter did not raise his eyebrows, but said only,

‘I didn’t mean the girl. Who’s taking care of it?’

‘Oh.’ Saint-George gave a second name. Bunter nodded.

‘Could be worse, on both fronts. But better not.’ He turned to the table, and scribbled a name and address on a scrap of paper. ‘Here. He's safer, and you should be able to manage the fee.’

‘Thanks. I mean it.’

Bunter turned back to the table and picked up his pen. ‘See that you do

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my LJ at http://nineveh-uk.livejournal.com/161575.html#cutid1


End file.
